


It Started with a Gun Boner

by kabrox18, locusdesperatus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, gabe is bad, gun boners au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7922206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kabrox18/pseuds/kabrox18, https://archiveofourown.org/users/locusdesperatus/pseuds/locusdesperatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabe is at a club, finds Locus seeming lost. Cue Locus becoming a lost puppy around Gabe, then Jack. Hijinks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. oops you're hot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [locusdesperatus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/locusdesperatus/gifts).



Locus slipped into the club, the music and people thrumming around him. A couple of women were up top, making raw cash off some drunk idiots. He wasn't taking part in that; instead he focused on his job, the plans laid out neat as graph paper in his mind. This would go smoothly as planned--he was actually ahead of schedule as it is, so the whole mission would be a breeze. He went to sit in his place, watching the women with well-hidden disinterest--he'd gotten good at feigning paying attention thanks to Felix. Soon they left, new people taking their place. The lighting went longwave; Locus figured it was because of the one lady and her questionable beauty. The other, though, caught his eye. The figure was wrong--almost no chest, broad shoulders--the hips more or less fit, but it definitely wasn't a woman at all. The music changed and Locus couldn't help but openly stare as whoever this was danced around, fooling a few people into giving him money.  
Big mistake.  
In this period of no situational awareness, someone did a Google search and dug up a quick few images that just-so-happened to line up with him. He was getting sniffed out even as he gave in and paid some spare cash to get this alluring creature to himself, hoping in some stupor to get closer to his target. It was excellent; every moment of being closer to this incubus, he became weak and pliable to him. Their fun was cut short at banging on the heavy door, the dancer whipping his head to glare at it.  
“I'm busy,” he says, stiffly.  
“We know Locus is in there. Bring him out.” The “incubus” freezes, looking back to Locus after a long pause.  
“You're that merc they’ve been hunting?” He nodded a tiny bit, feeling terribly vulnerable all of a sudden. How did this happen? His plan had been _perfect_ \--the door banged again and the dancer got up, helping him up toward the tiny bathroom, opening the window.  
“Get dressed and go. I'll keep them off your ass.” His clothes are shoved into his arms and the dancer strips down to the silky panties and tights he had, unfamiliar armor and a leathery cloak seeming to come out of nowhere. That gorgeous Latinx face is gone, replaced by a bird-like mask that looks rather like it’s carved out of unpolished bone.  
“I said _go_!” A now-clawed hand points to the window and Locus blinks rapidly, dropping his clothes to get dressed as the armored dancer goes to the door, opening after pulling a weapon Locus doesn't recognize.  
Doesn't recognize, that is, until he hears that oh-so-familiar bark. He freezes as another joins the party, taking its place in the other hand.  
_Those are long as his forearms, and he fires them one handed,_ Locus thinks, licking his lips at the sight of the dancer mowing down the few security people. He then drops the guns, which makes Locus wince, but then pulls out _two_ more.  
_Where is he getting all these_ runs through the mercenary’s head as he tugs on the last article of clothing, his shirt.  
_They’re so huge, I would've seen them even through that leather._  
Just the thought of the dancer doing **things** to him in that hefty leather with those unholy shotguns gave him goosebumps. Damn his gun kink.  
His thoughts were cut off by the aforementioned dancer coming to him, watching him behind those empty black sockets.  
“I told you to go. You take a long ass time to get dressed.”  
“S-sorry,” he stammers out, confidence out the window in the face of the being who had him on his knees _begging_ not ten minutes ago and now looked like he could kill anyone at any time.  
“Let's go before they find us,” the dancer says, a little impatient, and helps Locus out the window, following close behind.  
\------  
It's been five blocks since they got out of the club, and the dancer’s still with him. _Now’d be a good time to say something,_ Locus muses to himself.  
“Thanks,” he finally gets out, looking back at that skeletal mask.  
“Hnh,” the man grunts noncommittally and jerks his head, Locus looking back. They're being tailed.  
The same two people have followed them for at least three of the five blocks and they look nasty.  
“Professionals,” the dancer says simply, and Locus nods the tiniest bit.  
“Lose them?”  
“It'd be better than the gore fest I'd make.” Locus wants to say “not to me, it wouldn't,” but he keeps his mouth shut and his head down, slipping a pair of sunglasses on despite the near darkness.  
The dancer is mute, taking Locus’s shoulder and guiding him down a more populated street. The cloak and cowl melt away into a trench coat with a hood, and the bone mask turns into a bandanna over the dancer’s mouth that looks like a dog’s jaws. The armor is gone and the spikes are as well--the clawed gloves are replaced by plain leather. This all happens as they step from darkness into a street lamp, and Locus is both impressed and worried. If this _poledancer_ can turn such intimidating garb into something more tame in such a short period and summon massive shotguns from thin air, what else can he do? The grip on his shoulder tightens and he’s pried from his reverie by the slight jolt of pain.  
“What?”  
“Stop getting lost in your thoughts,” the dancer says sternly, “I can’t cover both our asses with your head in the clouds.” The merc mumbles out an apology, glancing back at where the tails were. They were getting lost in the flow of people and soon Locus would be free--safe to head home to Felix and Siris and-the dancer shakes him a little.  
“You ever been tailed, genius? Pay damn attention.” He says nothing this time, instead staring ahead as they get to a plaza with enough people they won't be picked out.  
“Reaper,” the dancer says simply.  
“Reaper?” Locus parrots.  
“Callsign, nickname, codename, whatever.”  
“Oh. Locus.”  
They shake hands and Locus feels faint from the grip. He needed to convince this Reaper to come with him.  
“I have a place you can stay tonight, to keep those jackasses off of you.”  
“Yeah, okay,” he says airily, not really paying attention--he's more focused on those damn eyes. They’re redder than blood and seem to glow; looks like an iris shinejob, and boy does it woo the green-clad merc like nothing else. Reaper looks around a bit before taking him down a back street he doesn't recognize, to a house he didn't know existed. He knocks and waits; they stand there about five seconds before the sound of multiple locks being undone is heard, the door opening. All Locus can see in the dark house is a horizontal red line and the faint outline of a person.  
“Gabe,” comes a harsh voice.  
“Jack,” Reaper replies plainly.  
“Come in. I have food for you two,” the person backs up, letting them in. The lights flick on in a comfortable kitchen, the rest of the house partially visible from the light spilling out. It seems _homely_ to put it plainly, even the decor is simple and warm.  
“Classic Hoosier boy scout,” Reaper muses aloud, and this “Jack” comes in with a plate of various foods. It's a meal. A simple, small one, but a meal anyway.  
“You didn't have to feed me,” Locus says, looking up into that red slit.  
“Eh, you're clearly someone Gabe likes, or he wouldn't have dragged you out here. I feed people Gabe likes.” He spoke simply and left to go clean, from what it sounded like. Locus ate quietly, looking to Reaper, who had changed back into the spiky leather armor. His clawed hands came up to the mask, fingers slipping back into the cowl and taking the bony mask off with a _snap._ For a moment, Locus thinks _he just took off his face,_ the whole thing is so **black.** Then four Tabasco-sauce-red eyes pop open, slitted pupils swelling then shrinking in the light to v shapes, flitting his way.  
“What?”  
“N-nothing.” He quickly looks down at his food, trying not to think about what he just witnessed. The creature hums low in his throat, and Locus feels very vulnerable again.  
“Liar,” Reaper says with clear amusement.  
“Maybe,” he admits, but avoids looking back up at those eerie eyes peering at him from that inky black. Jack comes back and sits across from Locus, next to Reaper.  
“Spooked him already, huh?”  
“Tch. I didn't expect anything else. Besides, I’m starving, and keeping up that facade is tiring.” The drawl is lazy and Locus glances up at a vaguely irritating _taktaktak_ of claws on the wood of the table.  
“I know it is.” The tone is soft, even with all the gravel in the owner’s voice. Jack sounds like he needs tea with honey rather badly. Locus decides not to comment.  
“I would've been fine had it not been for this guy,” Locus shrinks at being mentioned, but Reaper continues anyway, “I could've had a solid three or four souls before anyone caught on. Damn.” More tapping and the mercenary swallows the urge to stop those claws. They keep getting in his head, interrupting his thoughts.  
“Plus, on the way here, he kept drifting off like he couldn't keep his head on straight.” Definite annoyance there, and Jack snorts.  
“Not everyone can see in as many directions as you, Gabe.”  
“I mean it, you old geezer.”  
“Hey, be nice.” The voices are joking, affectionate even; the gentle banter relaxes Locus and before long he can feel sleep creeping up on him.  
“Heh, kid’s already half passed out.”  
“I'm 28,” Locus mumbles irritatedly.  
“And I'm almost 70. You're a kid to me.” Jack stands, helping Locus up. Faintly, he thinks _70 is bullshit. Even military folk aren't this muscular at this age._  
He's laid out on the couch and covered in a fleecy blanket--it's nice, a well-used softness about it that brings comfort down to Locus’s very core.  
“G’night,” Jack says, clicking the lights off and leaving.  
He still feels a presence, and those eyes are there, hovering in the dark.  
“Hello, Reaper,” he says dryly.  
“Hmph.” The creature says nothing, taking up residence in an old recliner.  
“What was that thing, on Jack’s face?”  
“Mask with an air filter and voice synthesizer. Geezer’s larynx was fucked in the same explosion that killed me. The top bit with the red line is his visor--hooked right into his optic nerve. He's completely blind and mute without the contraption.” Locus nodded, figuring Reaper could easily see him--but his mind kept snagging on something.  
“You're dead?”  
“Yup, deader than a doornail.”  
“Then how are you-”  
“Still kicking? Ahh, the wonders and terrors of nanotechnology.” The creature sounds almost fond.  
“Long story short, I am nanotech and some dead-- _dying_ leftovers.  
“Oh,” Locus says, and then tries to sleep.  
\------  
He's awoken by the clinking of china and soft chatter. For a moment he doesn't want to get up; he's warm under this fleece blanket, gentle beams of sunlight playing out through half-closed blinds. It feels nice.  
He remembers Felix and Siris, and gets up anyway.  
Jack is making coffee, pouring the steaming, tan liquid into the china Locus heard clicking. Gabe is seated at the table, eyes down turned to the cheap tablecloth as he fingers the rim of his cup, claws tinkling against the porcelain.  
“Good morning,” Jack says automatically. He sets a cup in front of Locus--no coffee, instead warmed milk. He sips it, and watches Jack’s broad, scarred back. He's got a pair of flannel pajama pants on, but his top is bare. Locus can see every muscle under that farner’s-tanned skin, and raises his eyebrows.  
Beside him, Reaper makes a growling noise and claws the air, looking to Locus with a too-wide grin.  
“Yum,” he says, eyes turning back to Jack.  
“Stop flirting. I don't want to be charged with necrophilia.”  
“Oh Morrison…. If you don't want the flirting go put a shirt on.” Jack scoffs a bit, looking to Reaper. Judging by the sharp vertical crease in his forehead he’s frowning--the ghost gives a snorting sort of laugh.  
“Dumbass,” he says affectionately, and the white-haired man goes back to cooking.  
“Pot calling the kettle black,” comes the muttered reply, and the wraith just _freezes._  
“You didn't,” he hissed.  
“I did.”  
“Don't go there.” The tone is warning--dangerous, even.  
“Gabe, I went there. And I took _pictures._ ” The comeback leaves Reaper reeling and for a second Locus has half a mind to duck-and-cover.  
“You old _bitch._ I'm gonna ream you stupid tonight, and you're gonna regret those words.”  
“Gabriel-fuckin’-Reyes, since _when_ have I ever regretted anything causing you to fuck me senseless?” That makes the whole room seem to go still and quiet, as if holding its breath to see the spectre’s reply.  
“Go to hell,” he says, meekly, and Jack gives a snort that's full of distortion.  
“S’what I thought.” Locus lets out a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding, and finishes his milk.  
“So I'll be leaving today. Are one of you coming with me?” Both say nothing, seeming to think things over.  
“Gabe-”  
“I brought him here. I'll take him.”  
“I knew you were gonna say that,” the white-haired man says tiredly.  
“Yup. I'm predictable as hell.” Reaper stands after finishing his drink, setting the cup on the counter and pulling Jack’s head over to kiss his temple.  
“Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone,” he murmurs in a silky purr, then lets go to look back at Locus.  
“Well? If you're ready then let's get going. I don't feel like standing here all day waiting for you.” Behind the wraith, Jack clucks about _impatience_ as he washes up some pans.  
“Jack, I swear to God.”  
“Just go, would you? I miss being alone with you.”  
“It's been a day.”  
“A day too much.” Reaper rolls his eyes and heads out, leading Locus before reversing roles and allowing the mercenary to take him back to where Felix and Siris resided.


	2. Siris is Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some dicks, some fluff, some action. I feel like this one's kinda filler heh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda spliced this one together from two previously written sections, so sorry if it reads awkwardly.  
> [This is also the reason I said I'd bump the rating. Oops?]  
> PS: bless you ao3 for rtf setting, formatting with html is ass

“You're telling me that you met this guy  _ poledancing _ , he whipped out  _ shotguns _ , and busted you out of a  _ strip club, because you got  _ **_noticed_ ** _?! _ ” Siris is screeching, and Locus nods simply. Reaper snorts behind him.

“You're all idiots,” the words are fairly warm despite their meaning, and the green-clad mercenary looks to him.

“Thanks,” he says dryly, then turns back to see Felix walk up.

“Who's the edgy bastard?” The ghost  _ laughs _ , then points at Felix.

“You have guts. I like you.”

“Who doesn't?” Felix grins that million-watt smile.

“Okay I like you less.” That earns the wraith a hurt look.

“Ouch.” Siris says, raising an eyebrow. Locus stays silent, thinking about things as he slowly turns to the spectre behind him.

“Can I come back with you?” The question almost doesn't seem to register to the other at first, but then he snorts softly.

“I guess. No harm no foul. Besides, Jack needs the company. He may say he prefers being alone with me but I know he needs some more… Lively company.” Felix looks  _ disgusted _ at the pun and glares like Reaper just insulted him straight out.

“Don't do that.”

“I like you even less now.”

\------

It takes maybe an hour to get there. Locus takes a mental note of how  _ plain _ the house looks--you'd never be able to tell a dead man and his dollar-store-knockoff grim reaper live there. The same entrance ceremony for Felix and Siris; Jack seems a bit put-off when Felix says he should take off his face mask. Reaper says nothing, but touches Jack’s shoulder and gently tugs him to the corner for a moment. Felix snorts and says something offhand that makes Jack go all rigid. Siris watches the white-haired man and feels his heart go out to the other man.

“Felix, can it. This is serious.”

“Oh boo hoo, I asked him if I could see his face.” Locus has had enough.

“He needs it to see and speak. Be respectful.”

“Tch, he can't have Mr. Mist guide him around?”

“That's not the point.” His brows have some down and he looks like a storm cloud about to rain over Felix. The smaller person finally shuts up, but looks sour the whole time they sit and eat. Jack sits with them in the same place as before, and puts his hands to either side of his jawline, pressing something and pulling the whole contraption off. Even Gabe stares, eyes wide as that ghastly pale face is revealed. He has an obvious tan line along his eyebrows, running under his temples. Reaper goes to him as he runs his fingers over his own face, almost seeming to check if it were still  _ there _ . His eyes seem to stare right through Locus, the cloudy fog covering what he knew was once sky blue. Jack gives a soundless laugh, and looks blindly in Reaper’s direction.

“Jack, it's been too damn long… And all because some punk wanted to see your face.” He sighed and leaned down, immediately pulling the other into a soft kiss. Felix stands and waves.

“Welp this is gonna devolve real fast so I'm out. Bye.” Locus stays, watching Siris leave as well. The remaining merc can't help but stare as Jack stands, one hand on the table, the other curling in the ghost’s cowl, thumb playing with the corner of his mouth. Felix is right--as soon as Jack comes in close enough for a kiss, Reaper suddenly drags him close, aggressively making out with his partner. Locus sweats as he watches, feeling almost jealous of Jack and how lucky he is to be kissed by that lovely mouth. Maybe tonight he can get a part of it, too.

\------

_ Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. _

Felix rubs his eyes and glares at the ceiling. He knows Locus’s moans and is able to pick them from the distortion-laced sounds of that old guy, and the guttural noises of that edgy dickhead. They’ve been at it for a fucking  _ hour  _ now, and when Felix glances over, he notices Siris is still awake, too.

The guy can fall asleep with kids screaming, so this is worse.

“You too, huh?” Felix asks with a wry smirk.

“Yup. They’re really screwing his brains out, yeah?”

“Yeah.” The petite merc sighs and rubs his eyes, sitting up. “I'm gonna kick their asses. Keep the bed warm for me.”

“Roger that.” Siris grunts, and sprawls out more. Felix scoots along in his socks and pajamas, squinting hard to see in the almost pitch black of the hall. He gets to the right door and bangs on it, the squeaking tapering off, incomprehensible muttering going back and forth between what sounds like the old fart and his dead buddy. Finally, the ghost comes to the door, dick still out. Apparently he doesn't give a shit.

“The fuck do you want?” He snaps, teeth flashing in the faint glow of a nightlight behind Felix.

“You're being too damn loud. Siris and I can't sleep.”

“You think I care-”

“Gabe!” Jack barks, and the spectre whips his head over to glare venomously at the old man. “Play nice. We’ll try to be quieter. Doesn't help this box spring is trash.” Reaper rolls his eyes and looks back to Felix, sneering as he hisses to him, voice loaded with sarcasm.

“There, happy? Leave us alone, midget.”

“ _ Midget?! _ ” Felix squawks, and is half tempted to punch that damn shaft that's just hanging there, just to spite the wraith.

“Gabe, what did I say?”

“Fuck off, I'm older,” Reaper growls, Jack moving suddenly. A string of what sounds suspiciously like a lot of swearing in Spanish comes out faster than a SAW’s bullets and Reaper shoves past Felix,  _ bolting _ to the living room. The white-haired man mutters an apology for all this as he goes past, the ghost yelping as he’s tackled down, pinned to the rug. He decides to pull something shitty and waits for Locus to come out, a blanket wrapped around him. Felix huffs and goes back to bed, Reaper grinning and looking directly at Locus as he licks his lips, grinding his hips up against Jack’s. That draws a gasp and a strangled noise from the younger man, who almost automatically grinds back down. Locus blushes and slowly comes closer, sitting nearby to watch them fight and grind and  _ moan _ . He's quickly learned that's how things work--their current states were triggered by a fight for dominance, and even now that they’ve reconvened and become close again, they still fight viciously over power. Reaper flips them and purrs thickly, drooling smoke as he humps roughly against Jack’s thigh and hip. His clawed hands are keeping Jack’s up by his head, although the younger doesn't seem to much mind. Locus whimpers to himself and pulls the blanket around himself more, hand moving to give him some relief. He can't help but daydream about the two of them and their various weapons and armor fucking him in so many horrible, dangerous ways, and it brings forth his climax so fast it leaves him seeing white for a few moments. When his vision comes back he can see off-white against Jack’s hip and gut--they’re both laying on the rug and just looking satisfied.

“Bed?” Reaper croaks, and Jack nods silently, pushing himself into a sitting position before tugging the ghost up. Both help Locus to his feet, and the three of them head back to bed, lying nestled together. Locus is sandwiched happily between them, and sleep overcomes the trio in minutes.

\------

“So, let me get this straight,” Siris says, seated across from Reaper on the couch, “you are literally dead, and Jack is only metaphorically, but it's because of a promotion? And you blew up a base, triggering to collapse of Overwatch, then fought for several years, moved offworld, then started living together again?” He sounds a little incredulous.

“Yup. Your facts are straighter than arrows, pal.”

“Siris. Please, call me Siris.”

“Mm, I think Ana would appreciate that name, if it stands for what I think it does.” Jack said quietly, what they could see of his face going soft.

“I'm sure it does,” Reaper grunted.

“Who's Ana?” Felix pipes in, leaning over the back of the couch.

“Old friend-”

“Sniper bitch and a backstabber.” Jack went dead silent and turned his slitted red gaze toward the ghost, who looks over with just his eyes. It's a bit eerie seeing those things turning and moving about in that gloom, but Jack’s used to it.

“Don't you dare say that about her.”

“Old friend is a fucking lie, Jack. Don't even try me. I'm not in the mood.” The sentence is punctuated by a sneer, teeth bared and too visible in the gold light of afternoon. The white-haired man sighs and sags into his chair, going silent. Reaper relaxes, looking back to the trio on the couch.

“Any other questions?”

“Yeah. Can we do something?” Felix again, and the ghost rolls his eyes.

“Do something,  _ tch _ . Like what.”

“Raid someplace. Pick up a job. Pull a heist,  _ something _ .”

“All of those are technically illegal,” Jack helpfully points out, to which the orange merc rolls his eyes.

“Yeah that's the point geezer.”

“That's my nickname, punk.” Reaper growls, leaning back and tapping his claws on the arm of his recliner. Siris holds his hands up, sensing a bubbling hostility between the two.

“Easy, Reaper. Felix, play nice with the dead man.” The smallest person sticks his tongue out and the spectre grins uncomfortably.

“Stick it out any more and I'll cut the damn thing out. Maybe then I'd get a little peace and quiet.” His red eyes narrow to harsh slits and the black pupils cut through them, looking very strange. 

Felix pulls his tongue in instantly.

“Someone's in a bad mood,” Locus comments, and Reaper turns his gaze to the other.

“Was it that obvious, Mr. Observant?” Silence.

“That's what I thought.”

“Gabe, you do need to relax. You're wound up like you just saw that huge Aussie weirdo and his little pyromaniac friend.”

“I'm  _ starving,  _ Jack. You think it's fun trying to hold myself in one place while running on fumes? It hurts and is  _ incredibly fuckin’ difficult. _ ” The younger person sighs a little, forehead creasing in worry.

“Maybe we can find a loophole or bend the rules. Gabriel needs something to run off of and one of your jobs could possibly help him out. I only have one rule. Don't hurt anyone innocent.”

“Why in th-” Locus interrupts his smaller partner.

“We can do that. I already have something set up as a fallback plan. I need to talk with the employer but it shouldn't take long.” He stands and leaves, giving one last look to those four sharp eyes that have gone from narrowed to relaxed, pupils thinned into pencilled-looking slits.

\------

Locus stands there, watching the two old soldiers get ready with practiced ease. Jack pulls on his rather cheesy jacket, strapping on his extras and looking to Locus a moment as Reaper knits himself into something resembling a human. He was a cloud of black just a moment ago, and even now his outline is blurred and it's hard to pick him out from the background of the dark room.

“Ready?” He asks, Jack sighing slightly.

“Let's go. The sooner the better. I don't want Gabe to fall apart any more than he already has.” Locus nods in agreement and they leave the house, the second-oldest going to lock the door. They all pile into the old truck and Jack gets them to their spot.

“Codenames,” Locus says simply.

“What are the other two’s?”

“Reaper, clearly, and Soldier: 76.”

“Got it,” Siris nods.

“What’re we dealing with?” 76 leans back to ask, looking over to the three in the back.

“Arms dealer. All of it’s illegal--our job here is to clear them out and get rid of the weapons by, ah, “any means necessary”. At least that’s what Locus told me.” Felix said simply, nodding to his partner.

“Easy enough. Reaper’s going to hang back until he’s good enough to help.”

“Understood,” Locus nodded, and they all piled out of the old truck, infiltrating the building.

\------

Reaper drifted along, little more than a bitter cloud of smoke. He was mostly blind and deaf in this state, and clung to the nearest warm body he could find. Currently, that was Jack--only problem was biotic fields were  _ cold _ . As soon as he’d use one, Reaper would move to someone else. It was a problem, but one they weren't sure how to rectify until people were killed. That presented another problem--Reaper preferred them alive. 76 told him to deal with dead ones until he could trap them alive himself, and was threatened with breathing the black mist in and suffering agonizing pain. They conceded and agreed to catch a few alive.

That's why right now Jack was leading up one end of a pincer movement to enclose a few security guards. He could feel the rolling flow of his long time friend against him, bringing a chill down to his very core that he couldn't seem to shake. It fluttered around his torso, slithering under his arms, around his neck, and annoyingly enough, between his legs.

“Do you have to be sitting  _ that way _ ?” He finally asked with irritation, tensing up at the feel of teeth on his neck.

“ _ Yes. It's more comfortable, and you're really goddamn warm there. _ ” The low hissing feels like it's in his head and it puts him very much on edge.

Why does he always flirt during the worst times?

“ _ Mmrr, come on Jack. Don't be so tense. Relaaaaax. _ ” The way he drew out the word and  _ purred  _ at him irritated the old soldier even more and he swat at the mouth on his neck. He got bitten, but the gloves were thick and Reaper knew not to puncture them. It immediately returned to his hairline, something cool and wet brushing over his skin.

“God dammit, Reaper…” The nickname is sour on his tongue, but he hopes it's not too obvious. The spectre laughed and tightened his grip over the younger man, now more blatant in squeezing at the more irritating locations. The mist isn't ebbing or flowing much anymore, instead looking ropy and dense.

“You have awful timing,” Jack mutters, trying rather hard to ignore the insistent groping as he closes the door behind himself. Locus and Siris are already there, Felix close behind as they push the guards into the room from the other side. Jack is thankful for the mask because he knows he's red--he was always bad at hiding his arousal. Reaper is getting more grabby and insistent as the seconds tick by, that mouth purring and muttering aggravatingly lewd things into Jack’s ear.

“Can we hurry this up?” He can't help but sound annoyed--he's half hard and Gabe doesn't show any sign of stopping his ministrations.

“Yeah, sure. Reaper being a dick?”

“Something like that.” He scowls at the soft laugh, sloppy kisses running up along his neck. Finally, after what feels like years, the guards are entrapped, and the ghost peels away from him, leaving him hot and bothered with no way to relieve himself. The thick mist oozes along, coiling up along one guard and pinning his arms to his sides as he’s drained of life. It's fast and looks like the air being let out of a balloon--all that's left is papery skin draped thinly over dry, twig-like bones. Reaper makes loads of uncomfortable sounds, the squelching and snapping making Siris and the other guards look a little woozy. He finally congeals into that blurred shadow again, red eyes fixing on the next target.

“Don't worry Jack, I'll come back for you,” the spectre coos to him after his second meal, smiling widely to him with far too many teeth. There's still two guards, and the third one is savored a bit--Reaper drains it in five seconds instead of just three. The fourth goes down in five as well; by that point the wraith is solid and has an actual shape. His face, however, is still thick black with four ruby red eyes. Jack thinks he prefers that, frankly.

“Alright, now just give us one moment. I wouldn't be bothered if you went ahead a bit, I don't mind scavenging in this state.” Siris nods, looking green as Locus’s clothes, and leads the three out. That leaves the dead man and his angel of death by their lonesome. Reaper swaggers forward, pure self-satisfaction written in the almost catlike squint he had.

“Poor Jack, all hardened up with no way out.” He sounds predatory, but Jack isn’t worried in the least. Each moment with the ghost is like a dance, and he knows the steps to this one very well.

“I see a way out right in front of me.”

“Oh, little old me?” Reaper places a clawed hand on his chest, puffing up in delight. The younger person nods and slings his rifle over his shoulder, the strap snug against his chest.

“Come on. I figure that smoky stuff isn't fun to breathe, but it sure is nimble. Wonder all the ways it can please me?” It's less a question and more an  _ invitation _ , one the spectre takes up eagerly. He melts back down halfway, thick black ropes of smoke boiling out of him as he advances, pinning Jack by his wrists to the wall. Those tentacle-looking things are quick to work, and he doesn't bother to stop the hungry arch into those gentle, feathery touches. One gets his belt undone, another slips in and coils around him like a constrictor around prey. He squirms and tries to peel off his mask to keep himself silent and blind,  _ wanting _ Gabe to have control this one time. A clawed hand delicately obliges him, and he hears the shift of leather as it’s safely tucked away. That silky mouth connects with his and he lets out a long exhale, relaxing into the smoke dragging its way around him over and over and  _ over _ . It's squeezing and stroking and he’s already melting into the velvety touches elsewhere, craving that cold mist in all sorts of awful ways. Reaper seems all too happy to give him what he wants, pressing one tendril up along his thigh, stopping to curl and massage it against the thick muscle there. Another snakes around his waist and pulls him closer to the ghost, Jack letting out a silent moan when Reaper takes the time to put his deadly hands on either side of his face, kissing him slow and deep and  _ right _ . Already, he's dripping and close--one little wisp of smoke has taken to leeching at his slit, drinking up his fluid. He suddenly climaxes seemingly out of nowhere, the tendrils milking him for every last little drop before slowly peeling away. Reaper breaks their kiss to replace his mask and piece him back together.

“You liked that.”

“Yeah?” Even with the synthesizer, he sounds breathless.

“You came a little extra. Delicious.” He grins and turns to leave, placing his own mask into the frame jutting from his chin and jawline.

\------

Reaper wants free run of the warehouse.

He gets free run of the warehouse.

He finds someone he doesn't like and decides, since they’re high in this illegal trade’s food chain, to give them a little discomfort.

“Funny thing about guns. These ones are illegal.” Reaper says with amusement, the guy whipping around in alarm.

“Oh, you didn't notice me? Surprise surprise.” The guy’s eyes go wide at the sight before him, Reaper watching him with almost disinterest.

“Reaper,” he says, offering a hand out. It isn't taken, and the ghost huffs at him.

“I'm not here to kill you, genius.” Still, his hand isn't taken, and he drops it with a guttural sound of annoyance.

“It's polite to shake hands when introduced to someone,” he says stiffly, and stands to walk around the room.

“You're not supposed to be here. Why would I shake your hand? You're an unwanted guest and I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh, you're going to have to ask me to leave?” He parrots, looking back to the dealer.

“Yes. I will call my security if you don't leave.”

“I'm sure they're rather strong, yes? Good at removing unwanted variables?”

“Yes they are.”

“Shame they can't remove me.” He stops, looking over a case of awards. He touches the frame, running his claws delicately over the fine wood.

“How do you figure that?” There’s a note of suspicion in the dealer’s voice, and Reaper smirks under his mask.

“I've eaten them all. Now I'm strong enough that I could do damn near whatever I wanted for  _ months _ .” He tilts his head at Jack’s voice in his ear.

“We’ve gotten the security room under control. Wave hi to the camera.” The last bit is an obvious joke but Reaper turns, removing his mask and putting a “v” of fingers to his mouth, sticking his tongue through it and wiggling the tip as he bats his eyes to the camera.

“...That's an interesting way to say  _ hello _ .” Locus comments, and the spectre grins ear to ear.

“Oh but I bet you like it,” he says airily, dropping his hand back to his side as he looks back to the dealer.

“He looks pretty scared,” the ghost says, “should I leave him be or use him as a late-night snack?”

“We don't want any replays of tonight, yes? Go ahead and eat him. Might as well fill you up a lot so you can last a bit longer.”

“Thanks for the sentiment, Jackie. I'll be sure to return the affection as soon as we meet back up.” His voice is oozing with clear love for the younger man, and the dealer wrinkles his nose at the almost-visible heart eyes the wraith has. It fades when those four eyes fix on the expression of disgust, being replaced by  _ hate _ .

“Look at you.  _ Sneering  _ at a monster trying to be human. You're fucking disgusting,” Reaper snarls, and the guy’s eyes get huge, mouth going slack at the sudden 180.

“Don't look so surprised, asshole. You're the one shitting all over my affection.” The wraith stalks closer, looking about ready to strangle him, if the way his hands keep clenching and relaxing is any indication. Suddenly he snaps forward, lifting the guy up with one hand, digging his claws in.

“When I'm done with you, there won't be anything left.” The dealer sputters and tries to talk his way out, only to be cut off by his own screams of agony as he’s ripped apart bit by excruciating bit. Reaper keeps his word and doesn't leave anything behind, even sweeping up the thin layer of skin left behind on the warm leather seat. He settles into it himself and leans his head back, closing his eyes as he hopes he did it cleanly enough that nobody in the camera room threw up.

\------

“There goes that guy,” Jack grunts, checking to make sure there's no leftovers trying to call for help. Once he’s reassured nobody’s left, he leaves the others to meet with Reaper. The ghost is still sitting in that hefty leather office chair, face all black as he rests his eyes a moment. The top pair pop open and look to Jack; shortly after the second pair opens as well and he gives a tired smile.

“Hey. Feeling any better?”

“Lots. I feel like I could sleep for three days though.”

“Like after that time you came over for Thanksgiving because our leave lined up?”

“Yup.” He chuckled and reached to Jack, who got him to his feet. Immediately he was pulled into a hug, and he felt the silky cool sensation of Reaper’s face in his neck. He hugged back, tipping his head to peek at the gloom tucked against him.

“This is more than tiredness.” He said simply, patting the armored back.

“He made a face at me when I talked to you. He seemed disgusted at us.” Jack said nothing, but pressed his hand into the firm back more.

“Come on. Let's get out of here.” He gently pulled away from his partner, looking to those handsome jewel-like eyes and reaching to gently touch that inky, soft face.

“Damn you and how gorgeous you are.” Jack mumbled, running his thumb along one of the lukewarm cheeks. The spectre purred against his hand, eyes drooping halfway closed.

“Thanks,” he mumbles softly into the glove, sighing in content. Jack smiles behind the mask, moving his free hand up to the other side, cupping his lover’s jaw and getting loud purring and a look of pure bliss in return.

“I always knew you liked being pet here, Gabe. It always makes you feel better.”

“Thanks, Jack. Now we really should get going. The sooner, the better. I would like to get some rest, even if it's only half an hour’s worth as we drive back home.”

“I agree. I already told Locus and the others to head there and wait for us.” He leaned up to press their foreheads together for a brief moment, the black cool and soothing against his exposed skin. He pulled away after a moment, taking one hand in both his own and heading down to the truck.

\------

They were home now and the two eldest of the group were sitting idly, trying to think of something to do.

“I don't feel as tired, now.” Reaper said after a moment of deliberation.

“That's good,” came the reply, warm fingers tangling with his clawed ones. There's a look of affection that Reaper recognizes even behind the visor and mask.

“You're a sappy old fart,” he mumbles, looking away as he squeezes Jack’s hand. He’s thankful for the black mist currently subsisting his face, and how it covers the maddening blush he knows would be there otherwise. There's a chuckle that makes his heart flutter and he scowls a little at the younger person.

“You're older,” he says with amusement obvious even through the voice synthesizer and the wraith huffs at him.

“Dead people don't age, loser. You're the old geezer, not me.”

“That may be true, but I'm  _ your  _ old geezer, and you know it.”

“Yeah you are. Nobody can have you but me.” He narrows his eyes and tips his head up to give Jack a rather possessive look. Jack hums and relaxes more, slumping into his seat as Reaper looked over him slowly. Guess some things never change.


	3. These Old Farts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is mostly tooth-rotting fluff, but there's some implied smut. [its 90% jack and gabe being dumb old gays, so]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey my spanish is shit so tell me if i did any of it wrong.

“You little  _ shit _ ,” Reaper snapped, glaring venomously to the man sharing the couch with him, who laughed heartily.

“Ah, having trouble keeping up in your old age,  _ Reyes _ ?”

“I'm gonna fucking kill you.” The threat is mumbled half heartedly, and it draws another rich laugh that makes the ghost think of the Lindt truffle ads and the flowing chocolate they depicted.

“Will you two shut up?” Felix whined from his spot in some old cloth chair. He had plucked one earbud out to glare at them and wrinkle his nose. Reaper rolls his eyes and flips him off easily, the tangerine-clad merc returning the rude gesture.

“Bitch,” Reaper said rather smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Stop swearing!” Siris snaps, glaring in at the group. The wraith looks right at him and with a cocky smirk, growls out “make me”.

“You doubt my abilities-”

“Oh shit, super dad incoming,” the spectre laughed, elbowing Jack and eliciting a tired noise.

“Are you gonna start another game so I can show you how it's done or what?”

“Fine, jeez. Crabby old geezer.” Siris watches them a moment more and sighs, making sure they’d be quiet before stepping back out. Reaper and 76 are playing some old fighting game, muttering curses and trash talking each other. It only takes another three matches before the fighting goes from verbal to physical, the ghost tackling the white-haired soldier to the carpet and wrestling him to the ground.

“You can win in games, but your ass is mine in real life,” the man on top hissed with glee, sharp teeth flashing in the light.

“Stop being gay,” Felix mutters behind them, and he turns to shoot the other a dirty look. Jack jumps on the opportunity, rolling them and pinning the ghost, grinning behind his mask.

“Oh yeah? Looks like you're mine, Gabe.”

“I was distracted,” he hissed, wiggling his hands and squirming. He glares up from his spot on the ground, hissing swears in Spanish and whatever dead language he could talk now when Jack sat on his chest, pinning his arms and leaning to hold his legs down.

“I'm gonna sit here until you admit I'm better.” Without thinking, the wraith snaps out a retort.

“Over my dead body.”

“Gabe, I literally am over your dead body.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not in Siris’s house,” the farmer boy clucked, wagging a finger at the pissy spectre, who tried to lift his head to snap at his finger. He couldn't get close enough and then the fucker started  _ teasing _ him. He stuck the finger close then yanked it away. Reaper knew he had the biggest shiteating grin under that mask, and snarled as he suddenly misted. Jack yelped a little at suddenly landing flat on his ass, then looked up at the wraith towering over him. One clawed hand snatches Jack’s wrist, tugging it up and biting his finger. Jack half-expects pain, but all he gets is the lightest nibble, silky lips curled around the sharp teeth to keep them away from skin. He must have a dumb look on his face, judging by the awful glare he's getting.

“Jack. You're a dumbfuck. Why would I hurt you?”

“You tried to blow us both up, then hunted me for several years.”

“But we made up. And made out.” Jack rolled his useless eyes behind his visor and leaned up with his free hand to push the shitty ghost's face away.

“I hate you,”

“Aww, you wound me.”

“Tch, as if you care. Felix put a steak knife through your arm and you laughed.”

“Very true. But physical pain is different than this.” He let go of Jack and made a heart with his hands.

“You're gonna break my heart. I just wanna love you Jack.” He made a pouty face that was hard to make out since it was all the same ink-black.

“You're so lame,” he muttered, with a completely straight face mind you, and the spectre huffed, finally dropping the cheesy facade.

“I'm gonna whip your ass,” he said flatly, giving Jack a bored look.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” He replies dryly, getting an eye roll.

\------

Dad Siris isn't happy with any of them and kicks the four out after their planned three days. Felix decides to lurk around Reaper and Jack’s house despite having a dubious status there. Locus is welcomed, obviously, but his partner is  _ iffy _ to put it lightly. Between putting knives in and  _ through _ Reaper, and threatening Jack with homicide, the ghost does  _ not _ want him there.

Felix plucks a knife from the table, slipping up behind a blind Jack, who’s brushing his fingers lightly over a Braille book Reaper got for him. Both have grown accustomed to his mask and visor being off more and more, and have shifted around to accommodate it. He flicks the weapon into the air, catching it easily and moving to put it at the old fart’s neck. Before he could though, there was a  _ ka-chack _ behind him, a metal circle pressed to the back of his skull. Then there was that damnable amusement.

“Ah, assassination attempt 58. Death by kitchen knife.” Jack stiffened, but was eased by the knowledge that his partner was there. Felix said nothing, but dropped the knife automatically, backing away with his hands in the air.

“First time you've threatened me at gunpoint,  _ corpse _ .” He flashes a wolfish grin at the way the weapon tracks him, fluid and practiced.

“First time you've gotten close enough to warrant it.” He replies evenly, glancing down to the hefty weapon and tapping his claw delicately at the trigger. Jack says nothing, of course, but stands and reaches around, groping the air for a moment before his hand seems to magnetize to the wraith’s shoulder. He shakes his head and looks through him, a stern expression on his face.

“I don't see why not. This is, after all, yet another threat to your wellbeing. I've taken up caring for you, and caring for you means I keep my abilities away. I'll come for you when it's time,” he says firmly, focusing his attention on the blind man beside him. He frowns at the ghost and reaches over, gently yet firmly pushing the weapon and his arm down. The shotgun fizzles at its master’s silent command, and he comes closer to Jack in one fluid motion.

“Dammit, why do you keep me from returning the favor?” Jack makes a face and fumbles over the table, only to have a clawed hand come up, instinctively leaning into it as it presses the mask to his face.

“He hasn't hurt me. Don't hurt him.”

“He's gotten close enough,” Reaper replies with annoyance.

“I don't care. Don't hurt innocents, Gabriel.” He flinches at the use of his whole name and shoots a glance to Felix before huffing out a “fine”. Jack watches them both for a long time before sighing.

“Pack your bags, Felix. I don't want you getting killed because you want me dead, for whatever reason.”

“Because you're shitty and so is he.” He motions to Gabe, who looks like he wants to skin the merc alive. He turns on the ball of his foot and leaves to collect his things anyway, and Jack notes the way his lover  _ relaxes _ instantly.

“Reyes,” he says with that Strike-Commander tone he used to use when the Blackwatch leader stepped out of line. When they were still close enough to, anyway. He doesn't get a reply besides the ghost looking back at him, and he sighs a little.

“If death wants me, it's going to have to take me kicking and screaming.” He can't help but sound fatherly at the almost guilty look the spectre wears.

“I won't let it happen,” he says softly, eyes fixing on Jack’s before he leaves; only the rustle of leather left in the quiet of the room.

\------

Gabe isn't done being overprotective after the incident with Felix. It keeps happening. He goes all human-like just to go with Jack to the little family-owned grocery store down the street, and does it more and more every time Jack tries to leave. He even snoops after him when he leaves at night to go talk with the neighbors, peering suspiciously out of the blinds. It only takes a week before the old soldier gets fed up and confronts the other, who looks like a kicked puppy. A dead kicked puppy, who won't even look up to meet Jack’s eyes.

“Please, Gabe, I just want to discuss things. I'm not mad. Really.”

“You always say that, and then we have a shouting match.” Jack wanted to argue but the words died in his throat, realizing the other was right.

“I'm sorry.”

“Jack. Listen to me. I tried to kill you once. More than once, actually. Let me make it up to you,” he sounds pleading and the younger man feels his gut twist.

“Fine. But we need to talk this out.”

“Good enough.”

“You know how you acted when you brought Locus back?” There was a pause, and Jack could almost see the gears churning in the dead man’s head.

“...Yes?”

“Could you just-” he waves his hand around, “-go back to that?”

“I guess?” Reaper shrugs and he nods.

“Okay. Good enough.” He smiles, but then feels dumb when he remembers his mask, deciding to pop it off and smile at him properly.

“You nerd. I can't believe you pulled off your mask just to smile at me.” The gentle teasing is accompanied after a moment by a soft kiss, right on the very tip of his nose. His smile goes ear to ear, and he enjoys the quiet chuckling from his lover.

“Even after all these years you're still the same Golden Boy I remember,” he murmurs, a hand coming up to gently knuckle against his lover’s pale cheek. Jack gives a breathy noise that Gabe recognizes as soundless laughter, and pulls  _ his _ old loser into a bear hug.

\------

“Reeeeyeeeees!” Jack shouts, only glancing up to see if the grumpy corpse was up yet. Instead Locus pops his head out, looking rather pouty.

“Do you have to yell?”

“Do me a favor and get Gabe up.”

“That doesn't answer my question-”

“Just go wake the old fart up.” Jack sighed as the merc left, and turned his focus back to making breakfast. Soon there was low grumbling behind him and teeth at his neck, clawed hands settling at his hips. He sighs theatrically and drops a hand to settle over one of Reaper’s. The teeth are replaced by kisses and purring, the ghost moving closer after a brief pause.

“Gabe, you're a lazy sack of shit.”

“I don't get up at 7 out of habit, farm boy.”

“You could at least get up earlier than  _ noon _ .”

“Eh, I need sleep.”

“Like hell you do.” The last bit was mumbled under his breath and earned him a bite to one of his traps. The muscle of course didn't give and he felt wetness--Gabe being the gross thing he is, licked it up.

“You're going to infect it,” he hissed over the sound of bacon sizzling.

“Pretty sure I'm cleaner than most things around here, and my mouth is even moreso. You're  _ fine _ .” Jack wants to pinch the bridge of his nose, and had it not been for his mask and visor, he would've. The ghost even  _ smells _ horny, if it's possible--the old soldier figures morning wood that he doesn't want to deal with himself. He mouths a swear when those hips press up to his butt, the bulge painfully obvious in the wraith’s pajamas. A whine is pressed right to his skin and he shivers when those silky lips brush over his tanned flesh.

“Let me finish cooking,” he grits out, pointing to the table. The spectre doesn't move initially and Jack wants to snap at him again. He's cut off however, by movement, soft panting coming from the dead man behind him. Jack scowls as his hips are pulled back into Reaper’s lewd grinding, annoyance filling him further when that pretty mouth has the gall to press right to the back of his neck, letting out the most disgusting  _ groan _ .

“Nnh, fuck,” the ghost breathes, shifting to get better friction.

“What did I say?” Jack growls, reaching to snatch one of the thick wrists and tug him away.

“The food’s done anyway,” his lover snaps back, reaching up to turn the oven off. “You were gonna burn it.” Jack says nothing, not wanting to admit it, but lets out a gasp when he’s moved to one side, easily pinned to the counter by the other. Gabe was always the more physically powerful one--his perfect thighs were a testament to that. Now he’s purring to Jack, the sound low and gravelly. He winces a little at a rough grind that has Gabe breathing out curses in his mother tongue. Now he’s  _ really _ hard, and Jack almost wants to fuck the other senseless so he can get shit done without the dead man dry humping him. The ghost seems to realize this and turns Jack, pressing right into his front, close as can be. He's got a cocky grin on his face and he presses their hips together again, insistently rubbing against the younger. The spectre’s face dips even closer and one clawed hand comes up, cupping the back of his head. The other grips the counter, and Reaper pants as he continues to grind into him, making quite a few lovely noises. Jack huffs a bit as he slides his hands around to grip that plump bum, pulling him closer and drawing a delighted noise from the dead man.

“You're fucking disgusting,” Jack mumbles under his breath, glowering at the pretty face hanging over his.

\------

“This is insane,” Felix said simply.

“I'm not happy about this, Ortez-”

“Code names.”

“What about extra hands? Some cheap sidekick we can buy for the night?” Felix offers, eyes darting between the two others.

“I know a mercenary who’d stick through and actually show up all without demanding much.” Siris’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline.

“Oh yeah? Call him up. We need all the help we can get.”

“I could put it on speaker--you both know I'm not good at explaining things.” Felix rolls his eyes and nods, watching Locus pull his phone and click through a few things.

“What do you need, Locus?”

“I want to talk.” Siris squints and looks to Felix; the signal’s a bit weird in this place and the voice has some distortion.

“Ah. I see. Got a job for me? Shall I bring an extra set of hands?”

“We may only need you and your… Weapons prowess.”

“Ah, of course. When and where?” Here, Locus hesitates; he holds the phone up to the others.

“You're on speaker. Felix and Siris are here with me.”

“The homicidal little tangerine and Jack’s clone? How amusing.” The voice takes a darker tone now; Felix scowls.

“Reaper. Funny how Locus has you in his contacts.”

“Why wouldn't he? I'm a far more reliable source of intel than either of you, and I show up when asked, unlike the little orange brat I'm talking to.” Siris waves to Felix, motioning him to cut it out.

“Reaper--you're the cloaked shady guy that stayed over with Felix and Locus right? You and that 76 guy?”

“That would be me.”

“Yeah, we could definitely get backup from you. You're terrifying.” A low chuckle that makes Locus look a bit uncomfortable rings out.

“That's what I'm going for. Now, time and place. I can't show up if I don't know where I'm going.”

“Can I send you the details another way? We don't want to be traced too easily.”

“You can do it face to face if you want--I'll meet you in that park not far from your house. Tomorrow?” The word hangs as an offer; Locus and Siris nod, while Felix looks irritated.

“Sounds like a plan. We’ll see you there.” Locus says calmly, hanging up and stuffing the phone back into his pocket. Siris looks unsure about the situation, but seems reassured that someone he at least vaguely knows will be their backup.

\------

At first, Siris isn't sure  _ who _ he’s looking at. It's a tall, beefy Hispanic dude with what looks like a faded undercut. He introduces himself as “Gabriel Reyes”--Locus seems surprised by that.

“It's him,” the green-clad man says cryptically; it takes a good five minutes for the statement to finally click.

“His name is  _ Gabriel Reyes? _ ” He questions incredulously, getting a nod from both.

“I don't go by that anymore, clearly. It just works.” He gives the barest hint of a smile, quirking an eyebrow slightly in a cheeky expression. Siris frowns a bit and the smile fades, the sun kissed face switching to a serious look that’s all business.

“I don't do this shit for free, boys, as much as Locus likes to think. I need some kind of repayment; be it monetary, letting me do my cleanup job on whatever ends up dead, or other, more  _ physical _ payment.” He gives Locus a sidelong glance as he says this, making the other turn rather red. Felix looks disgusted, but to Siris’s relief, doesn’t comment. Reaper says nothing a moment, watching the three debate over it wordlessly.

“It's up to you boys, but no payment, no backup. You know how it is.”

“Yeah we do and that's the problem. We’re all broke, so that's out of the question; you could  _ eat _ but this isn't that kind of mission, you’d likely not get much. That leaves the last option.” Siris sighs heavily, looking to Felix, who scowls.

“I'm not doing it!”

“I don't have low enough self-respect for that,” Siris says staunchly. Gabe smirks and eyes Locus none-too-subtly. He's sweating bullets, staring blankly at that pretty face. The last time he saw it was in a dark room hovering over his own face after he watched that beautiful incubus of a man  _ poledance _ .

“I could do it. One night. Maybe after the mission?” He sounds hesitant, but it makes a sickly grin crack over those soft features.

“Of course. I don't mind taking payment after the mission.”

“...So we’re meeting here, but the mission is there.” Siris finally breaks the silence that stretches out, pulling a map to show Reaper the locations. The dead man nods, looking the places over.

“Nice and easy. When is it?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Mm-mm, cutting it close, aren't we?”

“Maybe.”

\------

Reaper shows up just as planned, decked out in his full gear. Locus keeps eying him every chance he gets at the beginning, staring at his shotguns and sometimes his legs, if he got the chance. All in all it’s a stressful night, mostly because Locus keeps getting distracted thinking about that lovely pierced shaft and the pretty face he’ll get to experience again.

Thankfully after a grueling couple of hours, it's over. Reaper does his thing once he’s sure Siris and Felix are gone, then follows Locus out.

“There's more than one reason you agreed, isn't there?” He said simply, looking over with a light tilt of his head.

“Of course there is.”

“What's the other reason, then?”

“It's been a few weeks since I saw your face, and seeing it again…” Reaper made a vague noise that sounded amused.

“Ah, it was my face then. I thought it was seeing me without my coat. Jack rather likes my figure and I supposed you did too.”

“Oh, I do, don't get me wrong. It's just… I see your face, the way your features are, your eyes, everything, and I think  _ incubus _ .”

“Oh really?” The ghost sounds intrigued, looking to Locus more.

“Yeah.”

“I see.” There's a sinister sort of amusement and it makes all the hair on the back of his neck and arms stand up. He loves it so much and hates himself because of it--it's a nasty little cycle.

\------

“Sit your ass down, Jack, and hold fucking  _ still _ .” Locus comes into the room to see Reaper holding Jack’s wrist up, other hand winding gauze around the limb. He’s groggy after being fucked senseless by the ghost, and has just awoken from a long nap; he does however notice the way Jack’s arranged in his recliner, the dead man at his side.

“Can't believe  _ cabron _ got his arm broke,” the ghost muttered under his breath, then looked to Jack, “what the hell were you thinking?”

“Listen, I didn't think that guy was going to pull that.”

“Tch, of  _ course _ you didn't.” The wraith sounds angrier than Locus has ever heard him, and it worries him a bit.

“Is everything okay?” He asks timidly, wincing a bit when those sharp eyes dart up.

“Everything’s peachy, bug boy. Except this  _ pinche idiota _ went to do some vigilante BS and broke his arm.  _ Mierda _ .” He hisses, wrapping the arm and pulling the gauze tight. Locus’s eyebrows fly to his hairline--he's heard some cursing in his time but Reaper usually swore in  _ english _ . Hearing him mutter expletives in his mother tongue was odd, especially since Locus can understand every word. Jack looks tired and has bandages in other spots too--it looks like he went through a tumbler full of knives.

“ _ Chingate _ , Morrison!” Reaper finally snaps, all teeth and snarls.

“Are you done?” The old soldier growls in reply. “I'm already tired of being mother-henned.” The spectre looks ready to strangle him but suddenly cracks and looks down, finishing bandaging the broken limb, tucking it into a sling mutely.

“I hate you,” he mumbles softly, shifting to lay his head against the other’s chest. Jack loops his good arm around the ghost’s shoulders, hugging him lightly.

“I know you do.”

“And right after you said to stop being so defensive of you.  _ Hipócrita maldito _ .”

“Mhm,” Jack says simply, tugging the hood down to run his fingers through the misty curls atop his lover’s darkened head. Locus watches mutely as Jack holds Reaper, soothing him with soft touches and even softer words. The merc hangs back and stares blankly, amazed when he hears sniffling from the wraith--it wasn't anger, it was worry. He wondered, briefly, how it felt to hold the Angel of Death to your chest and soothe it, letting it know you were fine. Likely odd, came the conclusion, but Jack seemed to have done it before.

Minutes passed and Locus padded over silently, Jack motioning to be quiet. Reaper was passed out in his lover’s grasp, head laid out against his chest. It was heartwarming, frankly, and Locus smiled a tiny bit at the sight. When he went to dig out a snack he was careful to be quiet; after all, even Death itself needed rest once in a while.


	4. Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> new friends, and locus is a nerd

Jack automatically lets one hand drop from his heavy pulse rifle, reaching the now-free hand to run his fingers through the coiling, thick smoke that’s come up to him. He pulls his hand away when it goes behind him, but he doesn't have to wait for very long for the contact to be reciprocated. Hefty arms curl around him from behind, wrapping around his shoulders. There's a brief moment of hesitation--one hand angles up, there's a  _ click _ , and the hand drops again, holding that skeletal mask. Then the cold face settles in the crook of his neck, almost completely obscured by both his shoulder and the cowl the ghost wears.

“You okay?” Jack grunts, hand coming up to gently touch one of the clawed gauntlets settled against his chest.

“Will be,” comes the soft murmur, and the cold face lifts away, pressing instead to the crown of his skull. There's a small moment of Reaper just sitting there, breathing in and out slowly--it's one of the few things he carried over. He sighs a tired sort of sigh, relaxing at the reassurance of heat and 76’s spice-scented body wash. It had been a new variety of the soap, and the wraith adored the scent intermingling with the natural _farm_ _boy_ smell that clung to the younger man. He kissed the spot lightly a couple times, moving one hand to delicately toy with a spike of Jack’s hair that always seemed to stick out rebelliously, straight out from the curve of his scalp. The old soldier tugged on his arm, pulling the spectre closer and around to his front.

“You're playing with my hair again.” It only happened when one of two conditions was met: Reaper was anxious, or they were cuddling. The second was sort of possible, but not enough for 76’s liking. Four eyes fixed on his two out of the gloom and the taller creature said nothing, looking like he got caught stealing sweets.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, but settles into the gloved hand coming to his face, smoothing along his jaw, running over the stiff frame for his mask. The warm thumb-pad massages his cheek and he can't stop the low purr that comes from deep in his chest, the sound barely more than a rumble of bass. Jack smiles--he can hardly hear it, but he feels the strong vibrations even through the thick glove he has.

“Come on, let's head home,” he says softly, tugging that face down to rest their foreheads together for a tiny, warm moment. It's peaceful, this whole few minutes has been; but Jack can already feel the oppressive sensation of being  _ watched _ . Reaper stops purring, but keeps his eyes shut--or so he thinks. Faintly, he can see barely-visible red amongst the black--the spectre feels watched as well, then. He notices those lips moving incredibly slowly, mouthing out Spanish to Jack in a way that isn't immediately noticeable.

“ _ Sniper. Behind you. Above, about your 5. Ridge along the roof. Can't see the make of rifle. _ ” Jack nods the tiniest bit, but doesn't move, instead pulling his hand away, dropping it to take one of Reaper’s.  _ Keep the facade _ screamed in his head--if they wanted out, they had to make sure the sniper thought they still had the element of surprise. Panicked snipers shot first and didn't ask questions.

“ _ I can shade-step up there. It'll take me a second but you need to act like I'm leaving you here. _ ” Another minute nod, and he goes to give the wraith a hug.

“I'll see you at home,” he says, knowing that in the quiet of the night the sniper would hear them and be suspicious if Reaper disappeared without a word.

“I'll see you too, Jack.” Those heavy arms come up and give him a gentle squeeze; they part, and things happen very quickly after that. Jack suddenly  _ moves _ when that ethereal fire fades, ducking and dodging and weaving at random to keep that sniper guessing. He hears Gabe up high, hefty armored footsteps ringing out against the concrete. There's a shout but no gunfire--only when “all clear” is called out by the ghost does he stop and relax again. He turns to where Reyes told him, watching the stark white leather cloak flap in the air as the ghost drops back down. He's got someone wrapped up tight in his arms, their rifle slung over his back.

“Found ‘em,” he growls, coming closer to dump the sniper at Jack’s feet. Absently, he notices Gabe had his mask on again.

“The rifle?” He asks, glancing to it.

“Traditional, more or less. Whoever this is, they aren't on high pay. That rules out Talon and most of the UN’s idiots.”

“Overwatch?” He says the word softly, keeping his voice low as if he’s a kid cursing when his parents aren't home. Reaper stops, frowns.

“That monkey did issue a recall some time ago. It's a possibility. I doubt it, but there's a chance I can't ignore.” Jack nods and looks to the person as they slowly stand. They have a heavy hood and a baggy jacket. Gloves cover small, slender hands.

“I'm from around here,” comes the voice, small as the hands and vaguely leaning towards feminine. Gabe looks down--Jack knows he’s gone human because of the razor-sharp ring of red that darts down toward the person. He doesn't bother with irises in his more relaxed state. “And Overwatch is a rumor from old people who don't know when to lay down and die.” Reyes  _ laughs _ , dark and foreboding, and it makes Jack fidget. How many times had he heard the ominous sound while being hunted?

“Damn right,” he snaps, claws tapping to the metal of the other gauntlet. His arms are crossed and it makes him look even bigger.

“Ga-” he stops himself, but has the ghost’s attention; he waves in a cutting motion, _cut it out_. He rolls his eyes a little and mutters something about _old_ _fart_ before turning his attention back down to the ousted sniper.

“Go home kid. Don't try to shoot a pair of ex-military anymore, got it?” The person stands, the top of their head halfway up the two taller peoples’ chests.

“My name isn't Kid. It's Cat. And you still have my rifle.” They point up to him, face obscured in a mask that almost makes Jack think of Reaper’s own--a long V shape going almost to the chin, meeting with slitted, angled eyes. The rest is smooth metal, but the cut-out shapes are dimly glowing red. Their cloak is slate, patterned with lines of black and bands of silver. The gloves have padding on the knuckles and wiring running along the fingers. The design wasn't new--gloves like those were heated, the wires distributed it to the fingers. This was no amateur.

“You said you were from around here?” Jack finally asks, the mask turning to him. 

“Yeah. Where, specifically, I won't say. Family doesn't give up each other's location to a couple of ex-military creeps.” They tip their chin up in defiance and Reaper watches them.

“I've seen that cloak before,” he murmurs, sounding like he's thinking aloud. They look to him, revealing nothing and folding their arms.

“Yeah? I got it from a store not far from here. Doesn't surprise me you've seen it.” Jack frowns--whoever this Cat was, they sure were grumpy now they were out in the open. Suddenly they stop, tilt their head, making a string of gestures so fast it takes both a moment to even register them.

“What was that?” Gabe hisses, looking around for whoever the sniper was gesturing to.

“Swatting a bug,” they say, but the ghost isn't fooled.

“Stay put,” he says to Jack, leaving in a wave of purple fire.

\------

Locus wakes up to a silent home; he contacts Reaper, who says that they're busy, more or less.

 

[ **Actually Dead Man** ] 24:45: found some street punk with a sniper

[ **Actually Dead Man** ] 24:45: classic rifle, auto job with no real bolt

[ **Bug** ] 24:46: no bolt?

[ **Actually Dead Man** ] 24:46: sort of

[ **Bug** ] 24:46: explain

[ **Actually Dead Man** ] 24:47: it fires semi but there's no bolt action or anything, just something to chamber a round

[ **Bug** ] 24:48: sounds expensive. Talon?

[ **Actually Dead Man** ] 24:48: nah. they got some decent gear but nothing on Talon’s pay grade, I figure they saved up for all this

[ **Bug** ] 24:49: what's Jack's reaction?

[ **Actually Dead Man** ] 24:48: he's kinda grumpy but that's normal. this kid says name’s cat--I've seen their cloak before. you coming down here?

[ **Bug** ] 24:50: how'd you guess

[ **Actually Dead Man** ] 24:50: you're a gun fanatic, doesn't take much

 

Locus snorts at that and pockets his phone, heading to where he knew Jack had left to a couple hours ago. It was obvious Gabe was with him--it was rare to see them apart anymore. He finds them still talking with this “Cat”--a petite thing, all gangly limbs and lean muscle. Locus realizes what Reaper means by  _ I've seen their cloak before _ ; it was hard to forget. People who volunteered for some whack job military shit--getting messed up as a result--got it as a part of a compensation package after being sent home.

“It's an NS2 cloak,” he blurts out, all three looking to him. The ghost looks at it again, nodding. 

“Hnnh, so it is.” The noncommittal noise makes Jack look up.

“NS2?”

“Botched supersoldiers.” Cat mutters, rubbing a thin bicep. They look uncomfortable now, but make a vague motion in the space near their head. Another six people creep out, and Gabe mutters a long, ugly string of swears in his native tongue.

“Hey, guys.” Cat waves meekly to their family. One comes up, hood settled around their shoulders. Their mask-helmet thing is almost the same as Cat’s, but a different metal and a different shade of red.

“Can you just give them their rifle so we can leave you be?” The person asks, hands up to show no weapons. Jack looks to Gabe, who grunts.

“Let my friend take a look, then sure.” Cat nods and looks to Jack initially, seeming surprised with the weapon’s passed to Locus instead. It's hardly longer than Jack’s rifle, although lighter, more slender. The scope looks nice, a sharp cross of artificial white popping up when he peers in.

“Huh, digital scope. Very nice.”

“It was pretty expensive,” Cat says, a note of pleasure to their tone. When Locus looks, sure enough, there's nothing on the side of the weapon. A little switch to chamber a round after reloading, but that's it. He grunts and looks the rest of it over--a rather impressive weapon overall--and passes it to its owner, who slings it over their shoulder.

“Nice gun,” Locus says, and Cat nods.

“Thanks. Your buddies have some impressive hardware too.” They motion to Jack and Gabe, who say nothing.

“Say, why don't we make a deal,” the merc offers, looking at the others. He has their attention.

“If you keep quiet about us, maybe we can help you a bit.”

“Sounds good to me. I scratch your back, you scratch mine.” They look to the taller one for agreement. He must be the leader--the way he holds himself attests to that.

“Alright. We need all the help we can get. We’ll keep people off your tails.” The leader offers a hand to the three; Jack shakes it immediately, muttering his thanks in a gruff tone. Locus is next, smiling the barest little bit. Reyes is last, saying nothing as he wraps a claw around the gloved hand, giving it a firm shake. Before the other can pull away, he’s tugged them close, leaning down. His voice is low, the growl blurring together; Locus can hardly make out what exactly he says.

“Back out or double cross us and there will be no survivors of the NS2 program. Am I clear?” The person, to their credit, doesn't react with fear.

“Crystal,” is all they say, being released by the spectre right after. The seven then turn, vanishing back into the night and leaving the trio to head home.

\------

Locus does some late-night research on Cat’s sniper; it's an foreign model, but something that one could feasibly save up for. Its nickname on the online market is Tao Hua Yuan, but the model number is what catches his eye. LR-TK-77. It sounds familiar, but he can't put his finger on it. Cat looks to have redone it with a slew of custom parts, bringing it to a balanced state of midrange with little recoil, despite the relatively slow rate of fire. All in all a reliable weapon. He looks up from his laptop screen at the sound of almost silent footsteps--he knows exactly who it is without actually  _ needing _ to look.

“So, gun boy, they got a decent rifle?”

“Decent’s an understatement.”

“Tch, they’re NS2. Doesn't surprise me that they know their shit.” Locus sighed and looked back down, peeling his gaze from those glowing red eyes.

“Everything alright?” The ghost questions, and Locus grunts something noncommittal.

“Alright then,” he says, sitting back in his seat and sipping something out of some novelty mug Jack got him. It's a skull, and Locus can't help but snort and roll his eyes with a smile.

“What?”

“Your mug.”

“Oh. Yeah, it's nice isn't it? Morrison got it for me.” There's affection in those words, and the merc sighs. Silence reigns for a long few minutes as they sit together, Reaper sipping the drink and settling it against his lap, tapping one claw lightly at the porcelain.

“Can't stand silence,” he mutters, eyes darting around the room.

“You can't?” Locus thinks that's odd--the ghost always sticks to shadows, playing out ambushes or keeping to his enemies’ flanks. Silence seems an extension of that.

“Never have been able to after… After a night with Widowmaker. She was always so damn quiet.”

“You've told me about her. She… Died, right?”

“I don't know. I wasn't there. All I know is Talon got fucked up after that. That's when I defected.”

“You'd been a double agent for a couple months by that point, right?” The merc turns to face his conversation partner better, watching those red eyes. Gabe has told him about how he and Jack got together again after their long power struggle; he hasn't heard much of the dead man’s experience with the infamous sniper Widowmaker, however. The subject’s touchy but Locus can't help his curiosity. 

“Yeah. Jack got me to defect. ‘Course, I wasn't Overwatch, but at least I wasn't Talon either. Widowmaker… I still don't know what happened to her. I think she knew what I was doing and it makes me nervous. I may be able to drag myself back from death a million times over without fail but she still… scares me. Something about her emotionless persona always put me on edge. She had no reason to keep going, no reason to kill. At least I had bitterness and a lust for revenge--she had nothing. Truly a cold-blooded killer.” Those eyes dart around again, swollen black pupils almost circular in the near-black.

“Sounds inhuman.”

“She was. I remember working with Amélie before… Before everything happened. Talon took her… Killed her. I remember her first words to me as if she just said them to me this morning.  _ Amélie is dead. I am Widowmaker _ .”

“Sounds familiar,” Locus thought aloud, scrolling through a quick Google search of the name Widowmaker. Some witness reports and newsreels of her kills came up, but not much else. There was no noise from the wraith a moment, before he growled.

“I'm not like her, bug.”

“Dead people dragging others into their pit. That applies to both of you.”

“At least I have  _ emotions _ .”

“Sometimes I wonder. You kill people like you do and feed off them--a miserable existence, if you ask me.” There's no hostility in the words; they’re said like statements of fact. Reaper stands to take care of his empty mug, lingering in the kitchen.

“And I wonder why I only talk to Jack anymore.” A mirthless laugh, one that makes Locus’s arms cover themselves in gooseflesh.

“Why?”

“Nobody cares.”

“I do, or I wouldn't bother to listen.”

“Listening and caring are two different things.” Locus looks up at the sharp tone--Reaper’s glaring at him like he does to Felix. 

He's overstepped a line.

“What? Did I say something?” Silence is the deafening reply; the ghost stares him down and he feels like he’s looking at Death itself right about now, instead of some cheap mockery. “I'm sorry,” he says quickly, eyes going a little wide as he tries to backtrack and figure out what he said that set the dead man off.

“ _ Tch _ .” He shakes his head and turns away, releasing Locus from that hard, arresting glare.

\------

Locus stays in his room until Jack comes in--despite his protests, of course--and practically drags him out. He can't meet Reaper’s gaze, but the ghost doesn't comment on it. Jack hands him a plate of breakfast but the merc hardly picks at it, sitting sullenly as he thinks about last night. He's figured out exactly which words pulled the wraith’s hair trigger; his comment on killing people and using them to survive. It was like insulting a starving person for eating whatever they could.

“He's lost,” Jack comments as he sits between the two.

“He always is.” 

“He looks like he shit himself coming out here. What happened last night? I heard you talking.”

“It's not important,” he says impatiently, already wanting this conversation to be over. Jack rolls his neck and fixes Gabe with a  _ bullshit _ look.

“I have all day.”

“I have far more time than you, Jack. After all, we both know I'm going to outlive you indefinitely.” The snap is harsh--grating and irritated. The younger man isn't fazed in the least.

“Spit it out, Gabriel.”

“Make me.” The ghost hisses, hunching and folding his arms defensively.

“You being a brat,” Morrison says pointedly, but doesn't get much else out of the pissy spectre. “Alright, fine. You said it--fair game.” He stands, easily maneuvering the chair to be backed to the counter; Jack tips it back precariously, boxing the dead man into the chair.

“Now, will you tell me what's got you like this or do I have to fuck it out of you?” Still nothing. “Gabriel Reyes. I'm talking to you.” He leans in, and Locus watches the wraith curl tighter in the chair, scowling venomously. He's glancing around for an escape, but unless he tries misting, he's thoroughly trapped.

“I can tell you,” Locus says after a moment. Jack looks up and over to him expectantly.

“We were talking about Widowmaker. In summary, I said Reaper and Widowmaker were two sides of the same coin.” The white-haired soldier mulls this over and looks back to Gabe, who’s gone from crabby to sullen, skulking in his place pinned by Jack.

“Is that so?” A nod, and Jack lets him go, setting him down and pushing him back to his place, sitting again.

“Sometimes I wish he wasn't so damn stubborn, but sometimes it has its benefits,” he sighs, taking one clawed hand in his own, setting it on the table and playing gently with the leather. After a long moment of deliberation, Reaper speaks up.

“How's your arm?” It's still technically healing from the incident a while back, and Jack hasn't exactly taken it easy.

“It's still intact.” Gabe pulls his hand away and grabs the other’s wrist, tugging it out, prodding in a few spots and squeezing here and there. Jack winces a couple times at rather specific touches, and the wraith glares at him.

“I told you to call off the vigilante work until you were healed.”

“Couldn't--new lead.”

“Jack, I swear to fucking Christ above,” he mutters, looking the arm over and huffing in annoyance. “You're still the dumbass white bread brat I met in basic,” he grunts, rolling his eyes a bit.

“You love me though.” Locus almost sighs in relief--their banter and mutual angry concern over each other has lightened the mood considerably and he feels a weight come off his back.

“Yeah. But still, you're an idiot.”

“A lovable idiot.”

“The kind of idiot I want to punch out then fuck senseless,” the spectre agreed.

“Sounds like me.” There's a pause, then Jack removes his mask and they shift closer, kissing a bit hungrily. 

_ Things have been tense, so making up like this was as soothing to them as it was to me, _ the merc mused. They pull away and Gabe huffs.

“You're still so pretty even after you've become a prune juice drinking old fuck,” the dead man growls, moving to pin Morrison to his chair just as the younger man did to him hardly ten minutes ago. They kiss again, deeper this time, and Locus has a sinking feeling he knows how this is going to end up.


	5. Sombra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jack's kidnapped, and gabe gets shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spliced this one too, so i'm sorry if it reads like ass  
> ps: oops two updates in one day? fuck i set your standards too high. don't expect that to happen again

He loves kissing Jack so damn much. The younger person is like  _ crack _ and the wraith just can't get enough. It's gotten to the point where he’ll drop in on the vigilante mid-mission, sweeping him away and hoarding him for a few heated moments.

Now is one of those times.

“Jack, come on, let me take it off,” he pleads, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. His hands are poised on either side of Morrison’s face, ready to peel off his mask and visor. His fingers are millimeters away but Jack won't let him; his wrists are gripped by the steel hands of the younger.

“This has gone on enough, Gabe. Go home.” He sounds a bit strained--maybe he was trying too hard to keep the wraith off him?

“Please, just one more time.”

“That's what you said  _ last _ time.” The ghost whines loudly, trying to lean in and push his face to that damn mask. If he had to, he'd take it off with nothing more than his teeth and lips, dammit.

“I said no!” Morrison pushes him back and he whines more, sounding like a kicked puppy. His philosophy was when Jack was a stubborn ass, be cute and beg for attention. It worked, most of the time. Now didn't seem to be one of the times when it did.

“Go home, Gabriel.” He sulked at hearing the use of his whole first name and pouted, trying to sneak in a kiss.

“No!”

“Not even one little kiss?” He wheedles, wrapping around the other and getting close. There's a growl and he squirms.

“I can't kiss you with my mask on and I need it for this mission.”

“You can put it right back on!” Another growl, then a huff of  _ fine _ . He eagerly takes it off and presses Jack back, purring deeply as he connects their mouths none-too-gently. Jack bites him and he doesn't bother trying to stop the disgusting moan that spills out. God he loves the taste of Morrison, the  _ smell _ \--it's all so delicious and he wants to drag the younger man back home and screw his brains out.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against that scarred mouth, getting bitten again as punishment for taking too long. He can't stop though, making out with that sweet mouth and drinking in the sensation. It alights his dead heart with pure pleasure and he moans again, thick and guttural. Jack tries to push him away and he does move away a bit, pupils blown wide.

“Oh my god,” he breathes out, feeling dizzy at the sudden rush of air. He loves that feeling, the heat of Jack’s foggy breath puffing into the night. He feels drunk and high all at once and wants to crash then and there, holding tight to his little drug. But he can't--already Morrison is trying to grab his mask, meaning Reaper’s time is up.

“Jack, come on, just a few more minutes,” he begs, voice getting sharp and desperate. Too late. The mask attaches with a  _ click _ and the lingering sweetness is all that's left.

“Gabe, you look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Fuck, I didn't. You just taste like heaven.” Those half-hidden eyebrows shoot up, making the wrinkles adorning the old soldier’s forehead even more visible.

“I do?”

“Yeah,” he wheezes out a laugh, “every time I kiss you it's like you're feeding some kind of addiction. I need more all the time, it feels like, but you're always too busy.”

“Tonight.”

“What?”

“Tonight I'll come home and kiss you more instead of laying down right away.” That knocks the wind from him and he gasps, licking his lips at the mere thought.

“ _ Please _ , God I need it like a starving man needs food.” He probably sounds ridiculous--scratch that, he  _ does _ , but he needs to get the point across. Jack sighs a little.

“Okay, now go  _ home _ . I'll be back soon.” The spectre nods and leaves, eagerly awaiting the return of his little drug.

\------

Locus steps out of the hall to find Reaper cooking. Jack’s at the table, and looks up to the merc.

“Morning,” he says simply, looking to the wraith when he grunts out a greeting as well. Both look like shit, although for Gabe it's a little harder to tell.

“What happened to you two?” He wonders aloud, and they pass a subtle glance between each other.

“That new box spring must've done something, then.” Reyes comments, stirring something on the stove. Locus’s eyes go wide in realization and he flushes, looking to Jack.

“Don't look at me, he was the one who said it. In all honesty I'm surprised you weren't up in the middle of the night. Gabe was being a noisy little slut.” He sips his coffee as if he's discussing the weather and the merc just stands there gaping.

“You trying to catch flies,  _ cabron _ ?” The ghost asks, looking to him with that squinted expression.

“Be nice to him, Gabe.”

“I'm not in the mood to be nice. My ass is still sore.”

“And who's fault is that?”

“Yours, because your big fat dick.” The spectre sticks his tongue out at the old soldier, who gets up and grabs it, tugging it out further. The ghost squawks comically, eyes going huge as he chases the hand pulling his tongue.

“What, cat got your tongue,  _ Reyes _ ?” There's a hiss and Jack yelps at being bitten, letting go of the garish pink appendage. The wraith snarls and snaps a hand up, prying away the visor and mask before Morrison can stop him. He attacks Jack with his mouth, forcing into his neck to mouth over ugly purple marks and red pinpricks. He  _ moves _ and pins Jack to the counter, kissing him aggressively. One hand comes up and grips the cowl, pulling it to drag the dead man closer.

“Do you ever stop fighting and making out?” Locus says, a little annoyed that they’re too busy with each other to worry about breakfast. The merc rolls his eyes at the incredulous looks he gets, going to finish the food himself. “Go get a room,” he huffs as they return to kissing and biting already kissed and bitten places. He sees a clawed middle finger from the corner of his eye and snorts derisively. At least they have the sense to leave the kitchen, twisting and wrestling their way into the living room.

\------

Reaper is beyond “ _ fucking pissed _ ” and into a whole new realm of boiling-hot hate, anger screaming at him like a rabid animal screaming to escape. He doesn't bother opening the door, letting a shell take care of it. He slams through the shredded remnants and looks around. He's now in a room full of people; one is on the ground, screaming in agony and clutching their bloodied front. He steps on them, heavy boot crushing their ribs when he puts his weight on it. They gargle and spit up more blood--he ends them by blowing their head clean off their shoulders, stalking toward the table and looking at each spineless bastard seated there. One stands and goes to bolt, only to be halted by a shot to the back. He drops with a howl and the wraith comes over,  dumping a gun and flipping the coward onto his back before lifting him. He doesn't bother minding his claws and digs them deep into the meat of the guy’s chest, the metal claws scraping bone as the walking corpse drags him into the air.

“Where is he?” He jams the shotgun under the guy’s chin, ugly marks sprouting up almost immediately at the impact.

“I-I don't know who you're talking about!” He squawks, face a mess of tears and fear.

“ _ Bullshit _ ,” the wraith almost roars, jamming the weapon up harder.

“I'm sorry,” the guy bawls out, getting cut off by a deafening bark. The ghost dumps the body and turns.

“Where the hell is he. Tell me or I'll kill all of you.” He points to them, one by one.

“Where is who? Soldier: 76?” Just hearing someone say his callsign like that makes him bristle; he wants to shoot the fucker but he’s the only one that seems to know anything.

“Tell me where he is. Now.”

“Well that's classified-” the guy swallows and goes wide eyed as he stares down the large barrel of the weapon leveled at him.

“Are you going to tell me or not?” He snaps, claw stroking the trigger softly. It'd only take the very  _ lightest _ press; these things are sensitive. Just how he likes them.

“Fine--he's here.” The guy presses a button and a holo-map projects into the air. Reaper looks it over, rips a copy, then pauses.

“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully, his anger reigned in by this new knowledge and the act of killing. The guy looks anxious; he looks even more nervous when that weapon comes back up.

“Please no,” he whimpers.

“You cannot bargain with Death,” the spectre says simply, and pulls the trigger. He watches his body collapse, and looks to the others. They're still seated, but a dozen pairs of eyes are turned his way. He dumps the gun, the metal and chrome fizzling into smoke that fades almost instantly. He looks to the table and bends, quickly putting in a string of commands. It comes up with a password box; he snorts and jams a spiked rod into the console, cracking the screen. Red code flashes over it and suddenly it's all his.

“Too easy,” he says simply, and leaves the room. He pulls the map up again, looking it over before making his way through a few security checkpoints. The screens flash with a familiar red eye and all three let him through. Sombra has the place under her thumb and he’s enjoying the new freedom. 

Jack’s easy enough to find, stuck in some back room and clamped down to a chair. The system’s separate, according to the angry red eye on his phone.

“I only had one force rod on me,” he says, looking to a security camera. Nothing from the AI initially, but there's a beep and buzz, signaling a notification. He opens the message, reading it over.

“Where do you want me to put you?”

_ Buzz buzz. _ He nods and blasts the door open, going in and rewiring a few things. The lights flicker and she sends him several heart emojis. Jack’s limbs pop free of their bonds, and the wraith comes over, checking his pulse before looking him over for injuries. It's only been a day; he's fine right now, and the good news makes him relax a bit. He stops to take his mask off, tipping Jack’s chin up and kissing him gently. Just the feeling of familiar warmth against his cold lips soothes him and he pulls away, touching Morrison’s cheek gently. He snaps the mask back on and carefully scoops the younger man up, silently thanking Angela Ziegler for making him an inhuman hulk of strength even despite the torturous methods she used to do so. Jack feels heavy even despite his power and he grunts, holding the supersoldier like one would a sleeping baby.

“Sombra, kill the lights. I want out with no problems.” He says as he grabs the younger man’s stuff, putting the jacket on him and smoothing a hand over his back. Jack stirs, wrapping his arms around Reaper’s neck and giving a small sigh. They’ve left his mask and visor on him so he could talk, thankfully; one less thing he has to carry. The lights shut off, and there's faint shouting--the spectre moves fast, pulling the holo-map up and making his way out a different path than he came in. 

Things don't go smoothly, unfortunately.

He’s forced to slip Jack into a broom closet, closing the door and keeping Sombra on guard duty. The guards are easy, inexperienced; he takes down two with one shot and easily snaps a third’s neck before they actually turn to him. By then he’s already ready again and takes down two more. One disarms him--not as inexperienced as he thought then. Not a problem. He ducks a swipe, misting and fading out of the center of the group. Only two manage to track him; one follows him and engages in hand-to-hand. The guy’s fast, and Reaper’s a bit rusty in CQC. He gets hit a couple times before getting angry, deciding to fight dirty. His claws leave ugly furrows in the pale skin, the guy screaming and scrambling back as he clutches his face. The ghost almost guts another guy, blood coating his hands now. 

How ironic.

He whips two fresh shotguns out and tears through the shocked remainders, checking there was nobody else before heading back to that broom closet. Jack’s awake now, and stares up at him silently.

He dumps the guns and quickly scoops the other up, holding him tight as he runs the last little stretch to his escape.

“I've got you, Jack. It's okay now.”

\------

Reaper hums as he walks out, looking around as he reaches into the mailbox. He doesn't see anything but some birds, and pulls the mail out to sort through it. He doesn't notice the pair of eyes watching him, settling low against a rifle. He stops and looks around, feeling watched, but doesn't react in time to stop the bullet entering one temple, exiting through the opposite cheekbone. Brain and bone and blood spatter the mailbox and grass; he collapses, gripping his face in shock as his hands go cold. He's shaking but still in limbo, walking the line between life and death. The last thing he sees before things go dark are the sniper pouncing down to inspect their kill. He faintly feels their hands prodding the wound, the blackness feeling silky and warm while he rearranges himself to drag his soul back from the grave. It hurts like a motherfucker--always does, always will, but he forcibly closes the injury, nanomachines regrowing skin, bone, and all the organs injured with the shot. The sniper slaps him hard, but his body doesn't react. Not yet, at least. He finishes and preps himself for the agony of a revival, squeezing back into his body and immediately knocking the sniper back, lunging onto them.

“Who are you?” He snaps, hands pressed into the crooks of their elbows to keep them firmly pinned. They look scared shitless, and he frowns, pulling one hand to touch where the exit was. He messed up--the wound is healed, but it's left a great gaping hole in his cheek. He huffs and looks around; making absolutely sure they’re alone. They stare up at him in terror, and he scowls harshly, face twisting up.

“You made a mistake,” he growls, but freezes at footsteps coming down the driveway.

“Gabe?”

“Little busy.” He looks up to meet the visor, eyebrows furrowed as he feels that invisible gaze look over his broken face.

“What happened?” He comes closer, answering his own question as he sees the person Reyes has pinned.

“Hnh,” he says, shrugging and watching the two. “Gonna kill ‘em?”

“I want to.”

“Please  _ don't _ ,” they plead, and Reaper snarls, eyes going black-and-red.

“You shouldn't have shot me with a high caliber round through the head then.” Jack snorts and he seethes, grip tightening. “I'm full, but damn if I don't want to feed off them.”

“Well I think they learned their lesson. Let ‘em go, let's pick up the mail here and head inside.” Gabe sits there a moment longer before grunting and letting them go, watching them run like the devil itself was on their tail. He huffs and picks up the scattered mess of mail, clucking and shaking his head when some has blood spattered over it.

“This is a mess,” he huffs, scowling down at the shards of bone and sloppy grey matter on the pavement. Jack sighs, taking the mail and his hand. “It's supposed to rain later tonight, it'll wash out. Now come on before you get shot again.” The worry in his tone isn't well hidden even with the synthesizer, and Gabe rolls his eyes.

\------

“You got  _ what _ ?”

“Sniped out. Fucker got me by surprise.” He bares his teeth, the jagged line of white stark against the jet black of his face.

“Wh-how did you..?” The merc waves, and Reaper switches from anger to amusement in no time. A laugh bubbles out and he leans forward a bit.

“Tch, I eat people’s souls and can pull shotguns out of thin air. Dragging myself back from death is nothing.” Locus raises his eyebrows but says nothing else. He turns his attention back to his laptop, ignoring when Jack comes into the room.

“It's raining earlier than I thought but I still have shit to do.” He sounded annoyed and sat, leaning into Gabe who put an arm around the grumpy soldier. The wraith kisses the top of the younger’s head, tugging him into a gentle squeeze.

“Don't sweat. At least there won't be brains on the sidewalk, hey?” Locus makes a face and Jack laughs.

“No kidding.”

\------

Jack’s seated in his chair, Locus on the couch. Both are quiet and the room is peaceful. Neither notice Reaper come in, turning on some music. Jack looks up at the ghost, who looks like he's enjoying something.

“What're you doing?” The old soldier questions, bookmarking his page and setting the hardcover aside.

“Mm, nothing much.” There's thinly veiled amusement, and Locus flushes when he recognizes the song.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles, Jack seeming even more confused after.

“What? What's going on?”

“I told you, Jackie, it's nothing much.” Morrison stiffens at the mellifluent tone and nickname, eying the wraith with suspicion. He leans back after a bit of encouragement and Locus stares at the ghost’s back as he struts up to the vigilante, a sickly sweet grin plastered over his face.

“Gabe,” he starts, but is silenced by a gentle claw against his lips.

“I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to make you feel better after that little mishap you had. Just _relax_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh fuck guys. this is kinda dead, sorry. lost my insp and now i can't get it back.  
> you guys have plot ideas, shoot 'em my way.  
> tumblr is kabrox18


	6. Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper wars. Gabe's rescued as a return-favor for the events of ch.5.  
> Bad things happen with the Bird Crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy look an update for gun boners!!  
> The italic section in the beginning is *not* my writing, it's locusdesperatus's. Everything else is mine, however.

_ Reaper let out a guttural snarl, yanking on the cuffs with all his strength. The metal left bloody, raw wounds where it cut into his wrists, but he was beyond caring. _

_ “Face me!” Reaper bellowed, struggling against the leather strap holding his torso to the chair. “Come out of the shadows!” Frustration building, he went to mist, planning to escape the restraints. Within a fraction of a second, an electrical current coursed from his fingertips to his toes, forcing him to remain in his physical form. Reaper grit his teeth at the feeling, muscles clenching and unclenching rapidly. When the current stopped, he looked around wildly, panting.  _

_ “I'm not some plaything.” He spat, twisting as much as he could. “Show yourself.” _

_ “I would advise that you stand down, Reaper.” _

_ “Widowmaker?” Reaper was stunned. There was no mistaking the drawling french accent. _

_ “Oui.” Widowmaker stepped out from the shadows, holding a remote. She stood in front of the wraith, crossing her arms. “I know what you've been up to, Gabriel.” _

_ “Don't call me that.” Reaper hissed. _

_ “I will do whatever I want.” Widowmaker countered angrily. “You've been… consorting with enemies of Talon for too long. We've been watching you. I've been watching you.” Widowmaker paced back and forth. “Tell me where to find Jack Morrison.”  _

_ “And why would I do that?” Reaper growled. He stiffened as the assassin walked forward, pulling out a knife. She cut through his belts and clothing, baring his chest before turning to a table pushed against the side of room and coming back with a jar. _

_ “Do you know what this is, Gabriel?” She asked, quickly snapping latex gloves over her bodysuit. _

_ “No.” Reaper snapped. _

_ “White phosphorus.” Widowmaker told him, scooping out a glob of the substance. She smeared it in a thick line down the wraith's sternum. “Do you know anything about it?” _

_ “Your chemicals don't scare me. I am death incarnate.” Reaper snarls. _

_ “Even death feels pain, does he not?” Widowmaker smirked at him, holding up a walkie talkie. “Bring it in.” She ordered. The door opened, and a man in a welding mask with thick leather gloves entered. He held an iron fire poker. The tip glowed white hot, fading into orange, then red before it turned to steel gray. With a nod from his boss, the man approached Reaper, holding the poker in front of him. _

_ “What is it those Americans say?” Widowmaker asks. “Fire in the hole?” As she finished speaking, the man touched the poker to the edge of the phosphorus. The gel ignited, burning white hot on Reaper's skin. The wraith howled, bucking against his restraints. The veins in his neck bulged as he ground his teeth together. The chemical fizzled as it ran out of combustible material to ignite, leaving a deep, raw gash down to the bone on Reaper's chest. Widowmaker looked on curiously, swinging the poker back and forth with ease. _

_ “Do you want to tell me where Jack is?” She asked, holding the poker near Reaper's damaged chest. Reaper tried to force his nanites to heal him, to numb the horrid pain running through him, but as they started to work, the electrical current returned, shocking him into submission. “Tell me where he is, Gabriel. Save yourself some pain.” _

_ “No.” Reaper ground out. He made another effort to mist, screaming when he was shocked again. _

_ “What has he ever done for you, Gabriel? Tell me.” Widowmaker asked, coming closer. “Tell me what he has done to deserve your loyalty.” _

_ “He's my friend.” Reaper set his jaw. _

_ “Your friend?” Widowmaker laughed openly at that. “He left you for the vultures. Had it not been for the doctor, you would not be here. You owe him nothing. We gave you a purpose, direction!” She gestured to the hidden cameras in the room. _

_ “Your words are poison, spider.” Reaper hissed. He let out a strangled noise as Widowmaker pressed the cooling poker to his collar, leaving a deep burn mark. _

_ “I could always go after the other one.” She taunted. Reaper froze. “What is his name? Samuel?” She asked. “I doubt he will be as resistant as you.”  _

_ “Don't you dare.” Reaper threatened. _

_ “Or what?” Widowmaker bent down to eye level, a doubting smile on her face. “I could bring him in here. Make you watch as I tear him apart. Piece by little piece.” _

_ “You'd never find him.” Reaper knows damn well they could and probably would. _

_ “Oh, no. We will. But,” Widowmaker paused. “You could always save him. Tell me what I want to know, Gabriel.” _

_ “Stay away from them.” Reaper hisses one last time. He jerks as he is shocked again, longer this time. His muscles flex and jerk, rapid movements causing the restraints to dig into his injured skin. _

_ “Tell me now, Gabriel.” Widowmaker warns. When Reaper doesn't respond, she brings out a knife, easily inserting it into the chemical burn on his chest and slicing downwards. Reaper bellows, thrashing wildly. With a final flourish, Widowmaker jams the blade into his heart, twisting it coarsely. She turns away, not giving the wraith a second glance. He can try and revive himself all he wants, but the hair trigger electrical implants in his chair will keep him in limbo until Talon is ready to question him once more. _

//////

 

Reaper was a damn mess.

He was restrained in a chair, chest flayed and burned, neck bared to show even more grievous burns. A metal stake was jammed laser-exact through his chest, disregarding his sternum which lay shattered among his ribs. He was obviously dead, tiny spasms making his fingers jump or thighs twitch as electricity made him dance every time he tried to drag himself back together. His eyes were open, bared and glossy as he lay there. Jack had to stop and look away, thankful for the mask’s air filters to keep out the inevitable stink of rotting flesh.

“Dammit, Gabe.” His first action was to close those four grey-red eyes, dulled by death to a disturbing off-white sheen. Next, he shot out all the cameras--if Talon wanted him, they’d have to take him kicking and screaming the whole way.

The cuffs pop off with shamefully little effort on the soldier’s part, and he turns to rip the stake out, the sickening squelch accompanied by the crunch of bone shifting  _ wrong _ nearly make him cough up his quick meal from earlier. He tossed the metal aside with an echoing clatter, and Reyes shudders violently as if his corpse is possessed.

_ Really, that isn't far from the truth. _

The wraith gasps, jolting again as his heart seals with a faint hexagonal overlay of black repair sites rapidly fading into greyed-out, artificial-looking tissue. The knot of muscle stuttered back to life, the chest quickly rearranging to its proper state before knitting itself back together like a time-lapse of plants overtaking an abandoned building.

“Wi..Widowmaker… fuck…” Jack holds his breath and gently touches a smooth black face, once again ruby-red eyes fluttering open. “Morrison? They're fucking looking for you. You shouldn't have come.” His voice sounds strained and tired--he's been gone for nearly a week already and with the pressure on his body he’s likely craving souls.

“Gabe, I had to. You've been gone-”

“Five days. I  _ know. _ ” He snaps, shallow breaths rattling wet in his throat as he stands suddenly, heaving his weight into Jack’s arms. Claws drag delicately along the vinyl of the shitty old jacket and he pants into 76’s warm neck, breathing in the comforting scent. “Fuck you, old man.”

“Let's get you home.”

“That isn't happening. They know you’re here, they know you cracked me out.”

“How? I shot the cameras.”

“This is fucking Talon, Jack. Get your head out of your ass.” He pulls away and slugs the other roughly, face twisted up in annoyance as he turns, rubbing the fading seam running over his sternum while he tries to assess the damage and their best way out.

His chest armor and the Kevlar pads arranged over his gut are all burnt and cut to shreds--his cloak is fine, along with his arms and legs, but the majority of his front is exposed. He smells ozone and twists, Jack looking just as alarmed. The shattered window registers sluggishly and he shoves the pretty old man out of the way, the second shot grazing his inhuman face and weeping a fluid like ink. “She’s got us,  _ shit. _ ” He ducks and grabs Morrison, sprinting out and trying to ignore the persisting angry grey pulsing in patterns over his still-healing chest. It's slow.  _ Too  _ slow.

“Gabi,  _ listen,  _ you need to feed, you’re hurting and it's showing.”

“Shut up. You were the one who decided to show up. Is Locus at home?”

“I got Chirp and Strad to stay with him as well as 13. The others are keeping an eye out for anyone searching for Mason and his family.” Reaper heaves a tired sigh of relief and sets Jack down at an intersection. Everything hurts right now and his hands are shaking so bad he couldn't get off an accurate shot to save his life. Jack, however, can.

“Hey dumbass,” he grumbles against a covered shoulder, arm still curled low around those hips.

“Yeah?”

“How would you react if I said take a shotgun and keep us safe?”

“I'd take it and do as told.” A hand dips below the cloak and offers one of the comically sized weapons. Jack takes it, holding it two-handed like his pulse rifle.

“I can't tell where they are but this is a Talon base--they're all exactly the same. Literally. We’re gonna take a right here; then find some stairs. I figure this is either high up or underground.”

“Upstairs,” is all the old soldier says, peering around the corner as Reaper mashes his flat face between armored shoulder blades. He can't stop breathing in that sweet, musty-old-jacket smell that intermingled with the faint tang of his lover’s sweat. When 76 is sure it's clear, he grabs the ghost’s hand, pulling him to the staircase and walking down it quickly. Reaper jerks and shoves him again, stepping back and ducking a split-second before the concrete  _ pings _ and a bullet ricochets between them, skipping off the wall to whizz away. A grunt from the toppled younger, who sits up and quickly flattens himself to the wall, looking to the specter.

“She’s still got a bead on us,” he growls, eyes narrowed in distaste as he carefully peers around the corner.

“This  _ is  _ Widowmaker,” 76 grunts, not quite in the mood for any of this. He just wants to bring Reyes home.

“I've got an idea,” Gabe starts, a manic grin flirting across his features, “one that’ll get our sorry asses out of here more or less unscathed.”

“Let’s hear it then.”

\------

Widowmaker sniffs in distaste as they dodge another shot. She settles her cheek to the rifle, propped against a windowsill. She already nicked Reaper, but it's not enough. She has a personal vendetta against that damn undead freak, one she intends to act upon. Torturing brought forth that electric killing  _ life _ , and killing him, however temporary, had been supremely satisfying.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she coos, smirk crossing her face as she shoots a glint of silver. She can hear the yelp from here and shakes her head in amusement, tapping the small control on her temple. The helmet closes over her face, familiar red-glazed vision filling her sight as two tomato-red filled outlines show, along with blue-green ones of the various agents and troopers. The shape moves and she fires, black outlined in more red showing she landed the mark. Her grappling hook  _ just _ manages to reach the window-ledge opposite and she neatly tumbles to a landing, near-silent. The second shape moves to scoop up the fading outline, moving supersoldier-fast to the next landing. She swears between her teeth, glaring up at the black blood splatter smeared over the wall like an abstract painting. The stairs are eaten three at a time, her jagged, sharp heels clicking crisply on the plaster-coated stairs. 

_ Boom, boom, boom. _

That sound is achingly familiar and she scowls, expression twisting her face hideously as she chases the echo of shotgun fire. Four Talon soldiers lay dead and she kicks one lightly, flipping him onto his back. His sidearm gets pulled from his grasp and she moves on, chasing the heavy footsteps. She uses the last of the magazine to alert them, bringing them both to a skidding stop. The sidearm drops with a clatter and her rifle comes up, scope popping out fluidly as she puts a 25-power shot into the dead meat of Reaper’s neck. It does little to the corpse but makes Jack stumble from the sudden force. She waits for 75 power and pierces his shoulder, bringing a scream.

_ Take them alive. Alive, alive. _ She has to keep that in mind. She seems to forget about it however, and her eyes bug out when something like a bolt of raw violet energy lances past her cheek, bringing the sting of  _ cold, empty, nothing. _ A pair of triangular red eyes stare back at her faintly from the dark outside the window, and she swears, pulling back behind the corner when another bolt nearly hits its mark. Her visor brings up the shape of a person with a cape, weapon angled right for her skull.

“Fine,” she mumbles, a bitter taste filling her mouth, “they will escape. This time.” She darts off before the other gets curious, irritated her objective was ripped from her.

\------

He’s fed and laid out, Jack sitting patiently on a footstool as he watches over the ghost. He’s healed now, body whole and healthy. He looks almost peaceful, and Morrison looks up at Locus padding in with a mug of something steaming, a blanket wrapped over his shoulders.

“How is he?” The merc sits nearby, sipping his drink.

“ _ I’m  _ fine. Thanks for asking,” Reaper teases, eyes peeling open and darting over.

“Well, at least your sense of humor survived intact,” 76 sniped, a smirk softening what of his face they could see. The ghost snorts with amusement and sits up, leaning against the arm of his chair with a tired sigh.

“Christ, how did they even catch me. I was… I was ready for them.”

“There must have been more than you could take on,” Locus reasoned, gesturing vaguely with his free hand.

“He can take on a lot, and for a  _ long  _ time,” Jack pointed out.

“So could you during the Crisis,” the wraith retorts, “I’m probably just getting old. Like it or not everything holding me together is falling apart in of itself.” He sighed a little and shook his head. “I can't remember the last time I took the time to purge all the useless shit and feed myself to refresh everything.”

“Purge?” Locus questioned, leaning in slightly.

“He coughs up dead cells and dead nanobots, then moves away from the dead stuff and feeds himself to bring his body’s state back up to par.”

“How does he restore the machines?”

“Self-replication,” Reaper interjected, smirking with pride. “Coded it in myself, more or less. I ate a raw egg,  _ with a chick in it _ . It was fucking disgusting, but hey, it worked.”

“So to gain certain properties you have to feed off an organic system with the stuff you want?” He tried to keep the disgust off his face.

“Mhm. That's why I stick to humans now, preferably alive when I'm low. It kick-starts the self-replication, and keeps me in the right sort of behavior.” The mercenary nodded, thinking about that a moment.

“What about the shape changing?”

“That's conscious. I remold myself--kinda how you move around. It's straddling the line of conscious and unconscious, now that I think about it. I think what I want and everything in me does all the hard work.”

“Fancy,” Jack mumbled, “you got him to explain all that with no effort. Never heard any of that before and it would've made a  _ lot _ of things easier.” He tips his head to give the specter a pointed look, chuckling lightly.

“Ah, you never really asked, you old geezer.” The ghost laughs softly and sits up properly, wincing at the creak his joints give. “Note to self, I need new cartilage.” Morrison scoffs and Locus snaps his fingers.

“Hey, you're almost like those jellyfish that revert to a younger state every time they get old.”

“Yep, that's the long and short of it.” He shrugs and stands, heading to the kitchen and poking around in the cupboards.

“What're you looking for, Gabe?” Jack turned to get up and follow him, leaving Locus in the chair.

“Thinking about going out… I really do need to clear myself up.”

“Hmph. Mind sharing?”

“Last time I did you didn’t stop complaining about how sore you were.” Locus rolls his eyes at them, snorting in disbelief.

“I can't believe either of you.”

“Says the guy who whacked off to us.” A teasing smirk is cast his way and he huffs, brows coming down like a thunderstorm.

\------

“ _ Jaaa-aaa-aaack, _ ” Reaper rasps, a singsong tone about the drawn-out name.

“What now?” The visor tips toward him and he grins, stepping close in one fluid motion. 

“Hi.” He stifles a laugh with his tongue and the old man sighs tiredly, shaking his head and reaching back to smack him lightly.

“Don't be like this, Gabe.”

“I can be how I want,” he says smugly, resting his chin on one tanned shoulder and coiling his arms firmly around the younger man’s torso.

“Why are you like this?”

“Like I said, I can be how I want. Getting old? Your hearing must be shot.” A huff and he grins again at the flutter of shoulders, a hidden laugh tickling against his chest. Locus goes to answer the door at the sound of knocking, smiling a little unsurely to the lanky, too-tall figure of 13. They give a nod to locus then point over to Reaper, who pulls from his place cuddling 76.

“Yeah? What’cha need?”

13, of course, says nothing. They do, however, make a familiar gesture. The throat slice that Gabe does mostly as a joke.

“Shit, who?” A tap to the nose of their mask, and Reaper nods, suiting up quick.

“I’ll be back.”

“Kick some ass for me, hun,” Morrison calls, getting a laugh in reply.


End file.
